


Their Song

by livelovelaw



Series: Their Song Series [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:15:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21805024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livelovelaw/pseuds/livelovelaw
Summary: An assassin unexpectedly got to listen to a stranger’s playlist, and later on got caught in his life.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo
Series: Their Song Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571242
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: His Playlist

The rain fell down with fury that her black suit jacket fell heavy on her shoulders. She just finished a job, easily at that, but had to wait for The Cleaners to arrive. Normally, she wouldn’t have wasted her time in waiting for The Cleaners to well, remove the evidence of murder (as if she was stupid enough to leave something behind). They will do their job, unsupervised or not, as long as they are paid. But the third-party contractor had been very specific: personally make sure that no trace is left behind. Again, that order was highly unnecessary and is not even part of her job description. But that’s what you get when you deal with people who do not know how The First Order works.

Assassination has its own classification of integrated, complex and interrelated scheme. It’s a business, so to speak. It’s main selling point is to keep everything under the radar. Obviously, leaving evidence is bad for business, that’s what The Cleaners are for. But if you need murder to look like it was an accident, you call The Posers. That’s what this client should have done, by the way. After all, he wanted his lover to die as if she had a heart attack.

Death by cardiac arrest. Easy, for her who does the killing. Sarin, a nerve agent, in the vents and it was over in less than an hour. In short, she would have been able to move on with her night, watch a movie, prepare for another assignment, sleep, or something close to that. But no, she had to stay.

Patience is a virtue; this is especially true for someone in her profession. She is used to waiting, most of the time for the opportune moment to strike. But this excessive lingering was such a pain in the ass. It pissed her off so much that she didn’t had the patience to wait inside the building. She’ll just wait for The Cleaners on the roof, that is, where she can clearly see them arriving, and scram as soon as she sees them. But they are surely taking their time.

By now the onslaught of the rain had lightened to a slight drizzle, and now her new enemy in this waiting game is the gusts of cold winds that prickled her skin even though she’s wearing this thick, knitted, jet black turtle neck underneath her coat. Well, that was the consequence of her stubbornness and pride for not waiting inside the apartment. Anyway, speaking of that apartment, it was highly peculiar that the third-party contractor had a place in the most deprived area in Coruscant, where obviously, crime and poverty thrived. She can only assume that whoever it was who hired the First Order had, well, duh, money – lots of them, to be specific. But he couldn’t even afford a decent place where he and his lover can stay. If he loved her, or even enjoyed her company, isn’t it human nature to want to give the best to them?

She shook her head, scoffing in disbelief. By all the Maker’s grace, the client had his lover murdered. It’s not even a question of love, or whatever. The better inquiry is, what was the point of even asking these questions?

She cursed to herself, this is all The Cleaners’ fault. Fuck them for making her wait.

It was about time that boredom had crept on her skin. Finally, she sat down on the edge of the roof, both elbows on her knees; palms on her chin. She decided to observe something else, just to pass time. As if there is anything in the shittiest part of Coruscant, but it was better than none.

She craned her neck, wondering if she can see her safehouse from here. Now that she thought of it, she lived in this area too. Her safehouse is just two blocks away, so she shouldn’t be calling this area a shithole. But that’s the truth, living here, or in Coruscant specifically, is basically shit. Nothing nice ever comes out in this part of the city; just death, poverty and misery.

She sighed this time. Damn it, she’s even wallowing. She was about to curse at The Cleaners once more, but she became distracted. From her peripheral vision, fluorescent lights blinked from the third floor of the adjacent building.

Somebody’s home, she thought as she turned to face the three-story building where the dim hue orange lights were visible. From the curtains, she saw the silhouette of a man. Tall, more or less six-four. She knows because she’s trained to profile people, but that’s really not the point. Anyway, the man’s height made her whistle in awe. In all fairness, there are not so many men of this height in Coruscant. Most of them don’t even go beyond six feet. But he is different. Perhaps he’s not a native of this country, or maybe he just has really tall parents.

His height was something to be amazed about, yeah sure. But not only he’s tall, he’s freaking thick. She didn’t even know if his build was from fat or muscle. She hoped it was muscle because damn, he can pass as a club bouncer, or a member of The Order, or something. Weirdly enough though, she shouldn’t be hoping anything from a stranger; she shouldn’t even be wondering about him. But to hell with it, she’s about to die from boredom.

Anyway, Mr. Tall and Thick, basing from his movements, had dropped a satchel or some form of bag to the floor. It was followed by steps of some sorts, or was he skipping towards wherever? Well, she couldn’t see clearly from the curtains. One thing was sure though, it looked like he was dancing to some beat. She can only guess. But seriously, what the hell is he doing?

Finally, her questions have been finally answered. It was sound that suddenly roused her senses — music, that from its beat, melody, and the combination of several instruments, she figured it to be ancient. Ancient but weirdly fun; sunny and bubbly. Like the sun was greeting her in the morning – as if telling her ‘rise and shine motherfucker, it’s another good day’ in the nicest and most pleasant way.

It was the first time she heard something like this that it made her stand and lean towards the edge of the roof where she was currently at. The drum breaks and trumpets in the beginning were enough to make her want to bob her head. Not only that, the vocals; a quartet, or a choir were more than spectacular – raw, melodious, with lots of soul. It took all of her effort not to dance to the beat. After all, she doesn’t even know how to. Hell, she hasn’t even tried it once in her twenty-five years of existence.

But to hell with not attempting to dance. Mr. Tall and Thick is a freaking bad dancer too; out of beat, hips so fucking stiff, but that didn’t stop him. She chuckled for the first time in a long time, watching him as he enjoyed his music. He was contagious, well, his silhouette was, that for some reason, she didn’t even notice that her hips were swaying too.

The fuck was going on?

She let the question pass. She watched him intently, following every movement he came up with. He looked like he was snapping his fingers while swaying, and she did too. He spun, and she, for some reason, did it too without any hesitation. But soon, she stopped because he started singing.

Damn, Mr. Thick and Tall was stiff as a tree, but he sure can sing; even harmonizing with the vocals of the women in the song.

 _Wo-woah, you got the best of my love,_ he sang and she subconsciously followed it. Out of beat of course, as it was the first time she heard of this song. But she did what she can.

Finally, something nice had come out of this desolated place, she thought. Listening to him and dancing with him (even from afar) was heavenly that she didn’t even notice that The Cleaners have arrived.

Hell, she even forgot that she kills people for a living. 


	2. It’s not a Film, it’s Ben Solo

Chapter 2: It’s not a Film, it’s Ben Solo

Unsolicited listening became a habit, which she is not sure if it was right under the present circumstances. She got attracted with the music, but the music was intertwined with someone else’s life.

While she is used to spying on people, all with the intention to know the perfect opportune moment to strike, she is not here to kill Mr. Tall and Thick. All she wanted to do was to listen to his tunes, but listening unimpededly had proved to be more or less difficult. Difficult in a sense that she now knows about him more than she wanted to: his schedule, his habits, and even those that are supposed to be his private affairs.

For one, he really loves his old school jams. Like seriously, enjoyed it too much that he is practically listening to it every night. Not that she’s complaining and all. Still, even though it was a nightly affair, she wished that he would put his speakers up – just like the first time she heard his tunes. Sadly though, ever since she returned the next night, the sound was kept to a bare minimum.

It was probably a neighbor, from the adjacent buildings or from the lower floors, complaining on the noise; or maybe, he just had the decency to turn down the volume realizing that he had been a complete nuisance. That, she’s not sure. The only thing she’s certain though is the fact that she will slit Mr. Tall and Thick’s neighbor’s throat, if ever she finds out that they were the cause of him lowering down the volume of his speakers.

Anyway, that is not really a problem that is out of any solution, neither was it a matter worthy of the effort of slitting someone else’s throat.

It was a bold move, even for her, to jump on the third-floor veranda, just outside his curtain-covered windows. There, she would crouch low; ducking below the window sill before relaxing herself while her knees were on her chest and her arms wrapped around them. At first, she was wary that there will come a time that he goes out to his terrace. Thankfully, after almost a week of waiting in pure tension, she realized that he never does.

In all fairness, her new position had been more or less convenient. Whether his volume would be loud or not, she can hear his tunes clearly. And so, she got to learn that the best time to listen would always be around eight in the evening until midnight. There, the music would just go on for hours end (if she is lucky) and she would get so lost in it; humming endlessly, attempting to follow melodies or even try to sing broken lyrics. Sometimes she lists down the words that she is able to catch – just so she can try to listen to it on her own. But she never attempted to do that, not even once. Maybe because it was more fun listening to him when he sings with his music, or something… she never really asked herself why.

But those are really isolated nights, really. While 8 P.M. until 12 A.M. was the general rule, her nights were always filled with exceptions. Just how many songs were she able to listen in full? Not too much, maybe two or three songs among his playlist.

Mr. Tall and Thick is always on call, like a firefighter, maybe; a first responder, or something close to that. When he is called to work, the speakers would just abruptly shut down, followed by his quick rustling and urgent movements. She hated when the building becomes suddenly quiet. What she even loathed more is the fact that he is always away. The man can’t even stay put and it sucks.

The problem, she figured, was all about their timing. Her schedule doesn’t fit his, and his erratic one doesn’t fit hers either. Still, she was never discouraged in visiting almost every night. Maybe one of these nights would be perfect – like a straight four-hour listening session. She just doesn’t know when.

He’s always tired, that she figured so easily too. Reasonably enough, his job was definitely the culprit. There was a certain night when she arrived on his veranda, he was already asleep; snoring loudly and endlessly. In those times, she’s supposed to just go – visit another night. But there was this one night when he decided to let his music lull him to sleep.

That timing she was waiting for, it happened alright. Mr. Tall and Thick basically forgot to turn off his speakers, which was supposed to be the best night of them all. And yet she never caught any of his songs, not when she was completely distracted by the way he snores. His sleeping sounds were a nuisance in itself, if she was one of his neighbors. Surprisingly though, she somehow liked it too. It was as if he was calm, yet noisy at the same time. It was weird. She was weird for enjoying it. Anyway, she too figured that his snoring was likewise contagious because she basically fell asleep with him while sitting on his cold hard veranda floor.

To make the long story short, visiting him when he’s already asleep was a big no-no. Unless of course she had the energy to endure waking up sore and cold.

He owned the whole building, that she learned almost three weeks after her habitual visit. Not only that, Mr. Tall and Thick, is basically a clumsy fellow. Or reckless, or slightly negligent. Whatever, the words are basically the same.

He is always trying to fix something, or move things in his second floor/first floor from one point to the other. If that happens, his speakers are always on the floor where he is. And that, is another event of perfect timing. He likes to waste his time on the lower floors, and whatever he was doing there, she didn’t bother to know. At least when he’s fixing stuff, she’d get to learn that there is this band called “Earth, Wind and Fire” and their sassy song about a month in the calendar. Or this quartet, or a band, singing how they are the champions of the world. Or this song saying bye-bye to this far away country’s pie. Or some song about building up a buttercup. Either way, she can let go of his slight curses of pain and annoyance that came along with his songs, especially when he suddenly drops what he’s carrying or stubs his toe into something – which is basically all the time.

The first two floors were his office of some sorts, or something. But the third floor of his building was his house. He sleeps there, cooks there, and all that domesticated stuff. Speaking of his cooking skills, Mr. Tall and Thick is a hell of a good cook too. Or so she thinks. His meals always smell nice. But that could be misleading, after all, you use different senses when eating. Food may smell nice, but tasting them might as well be like eating literal shit. She just hopes that the way her stomach grumbles once he begins to sauté his basic spices, or how her mouth is subconsciously filled with saliva, was all worth it. Not that she’s hoping to taste his cooking or anything like that.

He likes his pornography, he sure freaking does. And it was an information which she never hoped to learn. It was almost as if he is a new man now; drowning in his own little world of pleasure. With the exception of his work, sometimes he forgets everything else; his schedule, now merely a hodgepodge of things and events.

But to hell with it, really. He’s a full-grown man, probably around the age where you know, there’s lots of fucking going around – but that’s if you have a partner or whatever. But sometimes, you just got to do what you got to do, even if it means to satisfy yourself alone while watching a film. And so, he does – almost every fucking night now.

It freaking sucks because for one, there’s no good music going on around, just the sound of flesh slapping against flesh coupled by loud erotic moans of a woman enjoying dick. Anyway, she doesn’t even know why she knows this piece of information but the actor on his collection, or those that he watches all the time, is called Ben. How and why does she know? Well, the woman actress is always shouting his name, that’s why.

_“Oh, Ben.”_

_“More, Ben.”_

_“Please, Ben!”_

_“Stop, Ben! No, don’t stop!”_

Make up your fucking mind, woman! That she wanted to say out loud sometimes (as if screaming at a porno film would make everything stop). Anyhow, if she hears one more night with that erotica going on around, she’s sure as hell that she would break into his house and destroy that film. But who is she kidding? She’s a killer, not a damn thief.

Anyway, porno night had become a habit, alright. And it was the worst bummer in her twenty-five years of existence. In all honesty, she had been very patient; always waiting when those saccharine tunes would come out. Whatever it was he was doing; she would always wait. But not to this.

Fast forward to now, her patience had worn thin. There were no songs in the past week, just the awful sound of some bimbo actress screaming the actor’s name. Still, she came, crouching low on the third-floor veranda; hoping, just hoping that Mr. Tall and Thick is not, in any circumstances, watching his films.

At exactly eight in the evening, she came. At any time now; any minute now, his door would creak open, signaling his arrival. She waited, patiently still.

Five minutes past eight and Mr. Tall and Thick still wasn’t there. With a slight hint of confusion, she craned her neck to peek on his curtain-covered windows – the lights were still out. Weird, because he is always on time.

Suddenly, his door burst open; like it was literally breached by a battering ram. She gasped, immediately sliding and hiding beneath his window sill for cover.

There was silence. Then for some reason, a loud scurrying noise, coupled by haphazard and breathless gasps followed soon.

_Oh hell no._ She thought instantly. She knew what those sounds are. “Seriously?” She hissed lowly. Apparently, his porno is already playing – in his god damn speakers – what the fucking hell?

“Not even waiting for the door to close?” She whined under her breath. She rolled her eyes; wanting to immediately jump away from this horrible nonsense. She readied her stance, her right leg already extended into a lunge. She’ll just come back tomorrow, or some other time, or when Mr. Tall and Thick is no longer a god damn horny arsehole masturbating all the time. She shook her head afterwards, thinking of how many tissue rolls he must have had spent in pleasing himself. But the thought immediately made her cringe. She stuck her tongue out. Why the hell is she even thinking of that?

Anyway, she was about to launch herself towards his roof but then his walls shook. No, it wasn’t his walls. It was his windows, covered by those curtains, that vibrated violently like they were going to crash down on her.

An earthquake? She thought in an instant.

Truth be told, the vibrations on the windows were enough to make her heart hammer on her chest. It was fear, probably. The terror that it might break and finally expose her espionage. In an instinct of self-preservation, she stupidly stretched her arms; just below the lower frame of the windows, trying to prevent them from fully shattering. As if they would break, and as if her efforts were helpful.

But it wasn’t a tectonic movement of the ground as she first initially thought. It was something worse than a cataclysmic force majeure.

The push and pull motions, coupled with the rhythmic shaking of the windows. It was –

_“Oh, Ben!”_ A woman moaned as hard (and loud) as she could. It was followed by a sound – a palm, slamming itself on the glass. _“OH, Ben!”_

Her brows furrowed in confusion. Then, she gasped.

_Holy Mother of the Maker_.

The shock sent her foot slipping on the veranda floor like she was a god damn neophyte. She hit her chin on the ground, but instantly rolled to sit on her butt. She hissed silently; her nose flaring as she tried to breathe calmly.

There is no erotica. Ben was no porn actor. Ms. Bimbo was not an actress either.

“Shit!” She bit her lip, trying her best not to click her tongue. It was stupid of her not to figure out that Mr. Tall and Thick is Ben, and is basically the god damn sex machine she hears almost every night.

But her regrets were quick to pass. There are more pressing matters at hand.

She stuck herself on the walls – glued below the veranda windows. It would be detrimental for her to move for one misstep might mean exposure, especially when the curtains are being crumpled and subconsciously being pulled across by Ms. Bimbo here (as a form of support) while Ben ultimately fucks her from behind, or so she can only assume.

Anyway, if they could just fuck their brains out on his bed, that would be great. But she didn’t think that would happen any time soon. Case in point, she already on all fours; like a feline ready to leap towards – shit. The only way out, she thought of as of now, is through the roof. But she cannot back-flip her way through the roof, not when the curtains are fully pulled to the edges by no other than Ms. Bimbo.

She froze in her stance; mind racing to think about her next move. She can slide down to the second-floor veranda – that would be a good plan. Not that she had a chance to execute it because she became distracted.

“I love you, Ben.” Ms. Bimbo suddenly whispered during their fucking.

That got her rooted in place. _Oh, they are lovers?_ She thought with a little bit of unknown disappointment.

There was silence. Then there were footsteps. It would have been her signal to move, but she did not move.

“We’ve talked about this.” This time, it was Ben who spoke. Who knew his speaking voice sounded lovelier than his singing voice? Low, deep, guttural; surprisingly familiar – but that’s not really the point –

“You’re the one who told me about what – this thing between you and me is.” He continued.

_Oh! They are not lovers_. _More like fuck-buddies or something._ She thought with a slight hint of happiness. It was quick to pass though; she’s not even supposed to be listening to this.

“I need a cigarette.” It was Ms. Bimbo’s time to speak, coupled with her footsteps towards somewhere.

_No, no, no._ She figured what was to come.

“On the veranda.” Ben mumbled.

_Fucking hell,_ she thought.

The plan was to jump towards the second-floor veranda, but she found herself on the walls, plastering herself on the other side of the corner of the concrete structure, like a spider. She hissed, looking down the three-story building. If she slips, it would be a nasty fall. A couple of broken appendages would be lucky, but a fall from this height would definitely mean instant death. And no, she’s not planning on dying now.

She clung to what she can; her fingers grasping protruded bricks. Her feet had it worse. The tip of her foot tried to find support on the edge of the veranda floor, but with both of them outside now, she knew she needed a new spot to plant her left foot. Her right foot on the other hand, was suspended in the air, attempting to stomp itself on the walls, or find another protruded brick where she can safely step on. There’s no exposed brick on her feet.

Safe to say that the only thing that kept her from falling is her upper body strength; which, in her current situation, is failing miserably. Her fingers will never support her weight in this position.

“Yeah, this – everything is just for fun. But is it so wrong for you to love me?” Ms. Bimbo whispered.

That made her roll her eyes. Well, you can’t force someone to love you. As Ben mentioned, their relationship had already been clear in the first place. So, what the hell? Anyway, if they needed to discuss what they are to each other, can they please do it inside his house? For the love of the Maker! She huffed in silence; agonizing as her fingers gripped what she can.

“I don’t do relationships.” Ben answered.

She craned her neck. A stupid move, knowing that it will make her lose her balance. But she did it anyway, out of curiosity. Nicely answered, she thought. Who needs love? She doesn’t, neither does he… apparently. 

Then, for some reason, a slap, loud and probably painful, whipped across the veranda.

“You’re emotionally unavailable, Ben Solo. Do you know that?” Ms. Bimbo roared through the sniffles before storming back in his house, or out of his building, or whatever.

_Finally!_ She thought, finally attempting to firm her feet on the edge of his veranda.

A slap in the face, which in her perspective, he doesn’t deserve. Maybe it was her lack of own experience in loving someone for thinking it so, but then again, you really can’t force someone to be with you. No one will stay. You can’t force anybody to stay, not if they really don’t want to. And she can’t blame Ben for that.

To hell with it, really. It’s not as if her opinion matters. At least the whole debacle was over. At least she will survive this.

Or so she thought.

She did not know what happened. She’s not really as clumsy as him, but she lost her footing – in the most inelegant and death worthy way.

She slipped. She just fucking did. She prevented herself from yelping out loud; her reflexes already two steps ahead of her emotions. Her fingers were able to catch something – that exposed brick, she held it with her whole might with one hand. But then again, the rest of her body was hanging on the air; her free arm swinging wildly beside her body.

She tried to pull herself up, but who is she kidding. That kind of effort would be futile, even with her trained physique. She needed both her arms to raise herself from this. And so, she tried. She swung her free arm, trying to reach that same brick.

Futile, still.

She looked down; eyes concentrated on the second-floor veranda. She can reach that, for sure, but not without a few bruises and scratches. Still, it was better than death. She swung herself, wanting to use the momentum to propel her towards the lower floor. The idea had been perfect, but her grip had failed her even before she could follow through.

She fell, alright. And the momentum she built had been detrimental. She hit her forehead straight on the rails of the second-floor veranda, before tumbling to hit another hard object. She didn’t know what it was, not when her head was spinning violently now. It might have been a fire escape ladder, or the wall of the adjacent building, she’s not sure. All she knew that it wasn’t only her head that’s been aching: her back was too, and everything else.

Her abrupt descent felt endless. She closed her eyes, so much for her unsolicited listening sessions. But she didn’t regret one bit of it. The only thing she regrets, probably, is she did not get to see his face, or associate such beautiful singing and speaking voice to a face.

Finally, she heard a loud thud; the sound of something breaking, and there was nothing else but black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs of this Chapter:
> 
> September - Earth, Wind & Fire  
> We are the Champions - Queen  
> American Pie - Don McLean  
> Build Me Up Buttercup - The Foundations

**Author's Note:**

> Mr. Tall and Thick is listening to Best of My Love by The Emotions :)


End file.
